


Holmes for the Holidays

by AleineSkyfire



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century (Cartoon)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff without Plot, Home for Christmas, Sherbeth, fake a relationship for Christmas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AleineSkyfire/pseuds/AleineSkyfire
Summary: Beth asks Holmes to fake being her boyfriend this Christmas for her family's sake, but the whole thing might get a little more real than they ever intended it to be... Serial-ish fic.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Beth Lestrade
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Holmes for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> So... I was inspired to write a Sherbeth fake-dating-for-Christmas fic and jfreak and Riandra were my enablers. :D I don’t know how often I’m going to be able to post and this is going to be way more ramble-y and fluffy than I usually do but here it goes.
> 
> Also playing a bit fast and loose with SH22 canon; if you know the show, you’ll know it when you see it. ;)
> 
> And sorry for the horribly unoriginal title. If I come up with a better one, I will change it!

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this, Inspector.”

Beth Lestrade sighed but didn’t look away from the road, gripping the steering wheel of her rental as she turned north onto U.S.-31 from the South Bend International Airport. “Watson, what’s not to understand? My family wants me to be set up with some nice guy, so I’m giving them that. For this Christmas, anyway.”

She felt rather than saw Sherlock’s look of amusement. “And next Christmas?”

“I will cross that bridge when I come to it. Live in the moment!”

“Yes, please do.”

“Relax.” Beth signaled and moved left to pass a semi truck. “This isn’t as bad as New London.”

“Yes, but it’s on the ground. I would have thought this city was big enough to warrant air traffic.”

“Nope, that’s just the _big_ cities and their urban sprawls, and South Bend is still too small and too far outside of Chicago. You’ve just spent too much time in New London, that’s all. Relax.”

“I will when we’re clear of the urban traffic.”

She risked a quick glance at Sherlock Holmes — he was clutching his armrests. “It’s the side of the road throwing you off, isn’t it.”

“...it might be.”

“Okay, it’s okay. We’ll be in the countryside soon, all right?”

“But, Inspector,” Watson piped from the backseat, “the most direct route is to take this freeway straight up to South Haven.”

“Yes, the most direct route, but not the prettiest. I’m taking you guys the scenic route, just as soon as I can hit a Michigan road I know. And then Sherlock can relax, too.”

“Too kind.” His tone was bone-dry.

“Relaaaax. Traffic is thinning out already and also we’re in Michigan now.”

“I’m still not sure why we didn’t use a Michigan airport,” said Watson. “There are two closer to your parents than South Bend is.”

“Mm, a little bit closer but not as direct. The flight to South Bend was the shortest and most direct, and now we have a little time to kill to enjoy the scenery.”

“I must say, the scenery is already quite pretty.”

Beth smiled. The scenery _was_ pretty. Most of the land surrounding U.S.-31 in Southwest Michigan was either farmland or woodland, and it was all liberally coated with snow. The snow wasn’t necessarily a given for seven days before Christmas, and Beth was grateful for it.

“Okay,” she said aloud after a few minutes, “here we go.” She turned off the freeway and headed northeast. “We’re hooking up with M-139, and that’ll take us basically all the way to St. Joe, turn on to M-63, and then take that north until it meets with the Blue Star Highway and that rides us all the way up to South Haven.” She glanced at Sherlock. “You’ll get to see the lake along the way.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Saint _Joe_?”

She sighed. “That river we just passed? The Saint Joseph River. Look, a lot of Catholics settled in this area.”

“Irish, Germans, and Poles, from what I’ve read, followed by African and Latin Americans.”

She raised both eyebrows at him. “You researched the area?”

He shrugged. “I was curious.”

She shook her head. “Just look out your window and let me know if you spot any deer.”

“Is that a danger?” Watson sounded concerned.

“Eh, a little bit. Not as much now as in the fall, but I do remember I almost wrecked on time on a little gaggle of does on a country road.”

“Perhaps the freeway would have been safer,” Sherlock muttered.

Beth sighed. “Just wait till we get to the lake. I promise you it’ll be worth it.”

* * *

Less than an hour and no deer later, Holmes had to admit that Lake Michigan _was_ worth the detour. Beth’s own hometown was also on the shoreline, but he could understand her impatience to show off her Great Lake. The water was green-grey beneath a pale grey sky, and the waves were choppy enough that for a moment, he felt disoriented, thinking that he should have been able to smell salt in the air. But there was no salt in this particular inland body of water, no tang to the air above it, just the bite of winter.

“Beth, it’s magnificent,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Although it did remind him achingly of the English Channel, and his little cottage on the South Downs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her beaming. “Isn’t it great? Technically, Lake Michigan and Lake Huron are a single body of water, and as such, they’re the biggest body of freshwater in the world, and on its own, it’s still the fifth-biggest.”

“It’s very impressive, Inspector.” Watson had a camera out, and was snapping pictures. “I imagine it’s calmer during the summer?”

“It depends. While you guys are here, though, you should definitely see a Great Lakes sunset if the sun shows. It’s _beautiful_.” Beth’s eyes were distant, her smile dreamy, and the wind off the lake whipping her hair around her, and Holmes realized he had never seen her looking quite like this. _What are we doing, performing this little charade?_ It had seemed an innocent-enough idea at the time...

“Yes, well…” He cleared his throat and turned away from the view. “I imagine your parents are wondering what became of us.”

Beth waved a dismissive hand. “I told them I was gonna do a little sight-seeing with you guys. It’ll be fine.”

They both blinked the next moment as a light flashed, and Watson smiled innocently at them, his camera pointed in their direction. “Sorry.”

* * *

The drive northwest to the lakeside had been mostly fields, quiet and white, the very image of “a picture print by Currier and Ives.” The drive north along the lake was more wooded and less peaceful, the road often running close to the shoreline. “A hundred years ago, the lake was further back,” Beth explained, “but erosion has always been a problem and, early 21st century, it was helped along by climate change. A lot of homes were lost — their foundations crumbled right out from underneath them.”

“That’s horrifying.” Watson sounded aghast.

Beth nodded. “No matter how far we advance, we can never manage to control nature.”

“And that’s probably just as well,” Sherlock said quietly.

Soon enough, they were entering South Haven, and Beth was always hit with a wave of nostalgia as she returned to her hometown. She had eventually adjusted to living and working in New London, but at heart she was still a small town girl, and she was pretty sure she would come home when she retired.

“What a charming little town,” Watson remarked.

Beth smiled. “It is pretty, isn’t it?”

“Festive,” was Sherlock’s comment. “Not as overdone as some parts of New London I could name.”

“I actually _like_ the huge displays.”

“Of course you do. You put up an artificial tree in my sitting room in the middle of November — of _course_ you like the ostentatious light shows.”

“Oh, c’mon, you like the tree, you know you do.” She glanced over at him, and he was trying not to smile. “Ha.”

“Your parents aren’t in town, Inspector?” Watson asked as they drove further from the downtown area.

“Nope, they’re on the other side of the highway, in the country. Just a few more minutes.”

* * *

The Lestrades’ home ended up being a few miles east of the highway, sitting a respectable distance from the road: a renovated old farmhouse, pale yellow with white trim and surrounded by trees. Old… but Holmes had a notion that the house had been built decades after he’d been born. At least the place looked homely. An enormous Christmas wreath graced the front door, and smaller ones decorated the windows.

 _This scheme is insane_.

But it was far too late to back out now. As Beth parked the car, a woman in her fifties emerged from the house, her hair dark, her skin pale olive… but those brilliant blue eyes were Beth’s.

Beth grinned and sprang out of the car, hurrying towards the woman. “Mom!”

Definitely no backing out now.


End file.
